


First in Waking

by JusttMee123



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:30:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3665808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JusttMee123/pseuds/JusttMee123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wakes and she's still there</p>
            </blockquote>





	First in Waking

He wakes slowly and the first thing he notices is her hair.

It's spread out all around her head, a halo of bright red; it's impossible not to notice because of its color. She's curled up against his side, her arm thrown over his stomach and her nose buried against his shoulder. Their legs are tangled together and she's drooling the tiniest bit. It's not gross though, it's actually strangely cute. He knows she'd shoot him where he stood if he said that out loud, though.

He recounts last night's events and smiles a bit to himself. It goes completely against the morals he was raised with and it's almost a little embarrassing how quick he was to stray from them last night, but despite it all it's hard for him to feel guilty about it. Especially with the sunlight streaming in through his curtains and a beautiful woman in his arms. It's damn near impossible for him to regret it, either.

She sighs and stretches in her sleep and her hand closes around his shirt. She turns over as her fist releases itself and she takes most of the blankets with her. He rolls onto his side and pulls her close, getting a whiff of her hair as he presses a light kiss into her shoulder. He hears her sigh again and shift closer to him. He definitely wants to stay like this all day. He glances at the clock. 9:13.

He's surprised she's still there, if he's being honest. He knows it's because she's still asleep, and he doesn't want to compromise how long she'll be there. Which means no waking her up.

When they finally fell asleep last night, he'd half expected to wake up alone in an empty bed. She always struck him more as the type to wake up early and leave without a trace. She'd certainly have an easy enough time with it. He's certain she's snuck out of plenty of mens' beds before, chalks it up as an occupational hazard, but she was still there. He's not sure how to describe how that makes him feel. He feels fuller, as if his heart and lungs have expanded to completely will his chest, but he feels light as a feather at the same time. She could have left him in the early morning, woken up at some ungodly hour and snuck out, but she hadn't. He marvels at the fact.

He curls his body around hers and their fingers interlace as he buries his face in her hair. He supposes that later they'll wake up for real and maybe she'll stay for breakfast. Maybe they'll even pick up where they left off last night. But for now he closes his eyes and lets himself drift off into sleep once more.

* * *

She wakes abruptly and in a blind panic.

She registers that there is another human form in the bed with her and automatically reaches for the pistol she keeps under her pillow. She fumbles around blindly for a second before she realizes she's not in her bed. Or her room. Or her apartment. And the person next to her isn't a threat to her at all. She attempts to get her heart rate back down to a normal level.

When she can think straight again she silently rises from the bed. She quickly locates her clothes and undergarments from where they were strewn last night and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. She's sure he won't mind too much. She turns the water temperature much higher than normal and it feels as if her skin is peeling off (and trust her, she knows what that feels like) but she lets it happen anyway. When she's done she grabs the dark green towel that's hanging on the rack and when she wraps it around herself it smells so much like him that she actually stumbles.

She curses Last-Night-Natasha and her foolishness;  _she_ doesn't regret it, but what if  _he_ does? Tony teases him a lot about his old-fashioned morals, but she thinks it's impressive that he's managed to stick to them for this long. She feels the smallest twinge of regret that he went against them for her. She'd never normally ask him to go against that, but last night she'd been low and needy, and she'd turned to the one person she knew would always pick her up.

It had been nice, just another movie night with the two of them curled under a blanket on the couch. She had laid her head on his stomach and he had run his fingers through her hair, an action that had sent shivers down her spine. But then something had changed and all of a sudden they were kissing and something had possessed her to ask if they should move to the bedroom. He had taken her hand and led the way.

She shakes herself out of the memory and dresses quickly. She's tempted- so,  _so_ tempted- to take his towel with her, but settles instead for burying her nose in it and inhaling deeply. As she replaces it on the rack she looks around and imagines her things in here. Their toothbrushes in a holder together, her shampoo in the corner of the shower, her towel hanging next to his. She can imagine it so easily it startles her and she rushes out of the bathroom, careful to turn the bathroom light off so she doesn't disturb him.

She hurries around the room and collects her things silently. She wasn't meant for that kind of domestic life. She doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve Steve. He's much too good for her. She repeats these facts to herself as she searches for her watch, eventually finding it near a vent. She tiptoes to his bedroom door but can't stop herself from glancing back at him. He's lying on his back, his arms practically pinned to his sides. He even sleeps like a soldier, she muses. A smile slowly crosses her face.

Is she really ready to do this? Does she want to? She's done this a million times, spent the night then picked up and left without a trace. But this time it's different. This time it's not with a stranger, and she's not looking for information. This is Steve, her best friend and confidant, her partner. She frowns and tries to rebuke herself; she wouldn't be good for him. He deserves so much more.

Even so, she finds herself letting go of the doorknob. She undresses as she crosses back to his bed, leaves her clothes heaped on the floor. Steve mumbles something and shifts in his sleep and she kisses his forehead gently before slipping under the blanket again. Tucking herself close to his side, she glances at the clock for the first time that morning. It's 6:56.


End file.
